Harmony
by difficile
Summary: It is nearly three in the morning, but Fran knows they are awake. Balthier/Vaan.


It's nearly three in the morning, but Fran knows they are awake. She can hear their voices, soft wisps of breath in the next room dulled occasionally by a rustle of blankets. They're trying to keep their words a secret but it's a fruitless task at that; Fran's ears were not simply atop her head for decoration. Eves-dropping was inevitable and mandatory for the life of a creature such as she. Though Fran would admit with some annoyance that she has certainly overheard worse from the room next door, tonight is strangely a quiet eve; understandably so. Separating the co-pilot's cabin from the captain's is naught but a thin wall, one that is unfortunately permeable to all sorts of sounds that usually come from Balthier's room.

Seeing as tonight, of all nights, is the first the pirate and his southern desert hume have seen each other since the fall of Bahamut, Fran has been expecting the worst racket she's heard in two years. Knowing this, tonight she had stayed in Balfonheim's Whitecap for longer than necessary, giving both herself and her partner some private time before she returned to the Strahl after midnight.

They were still awake, predictably, when she arrived. But gasps, labored breaths, and moans were not what bombarded her ears with passionate cacophony. Rather, it was the soft puffs of air and chuckles that leaked through the cracks under Balthier's door.

In the darkness of her room, Fran can sense something in both of the humes' voices that was not there before the events of Bahamut. It is tender, but not fragile, the way they carry their words in the thick black of early morn. Fran finds she has to strain her ears to hear the topic of conversation, and realizes the irony of the situation with bemusement. Curiosity was a disease of the hume heart, certainly not one concocted by the Wood and bestowed to Her children, but Fran cannot help but wonder what both pirate and orphan have been discussing since Balthier closed the door before the sun had even set.

She can hear their voices, yes, but their words are quiet, lost in the sounds of ruffled sheets and hands against skin. Distantly she catches the lilt of Balthier's voice, muffled, most likely his lips against his favorite patch of Vaan's skin Fran always witnessed the Archadian loving; a tender juncture of the blonde's shoulder and neck. She can't hear it but she can imagine the soft bumps Balthier's rings make against the line of Vaan's spine, the desert hume curled against Balthier and perfectly content to being pet like a giant cat. She can hear the smile in Vaan's breath now, and his whisper is louder. Years apart and yet they continue to tease even in the aftermath of their long-delayed passionate exchange.

There's a small thump against the wall behind Fran's headboard, followed by a young, breathy laugh that reminds Fran of sunshine. She can hear Vaan more clearly now, his head nearly matching hers on the other side of the wall. He has no idea.

With Vaan closer to her there is no mistaking the sound of Balthier's lips against the younger man's. They kiss, and _gods_ how humes are _noisy_ when they kiss, all lips and tongue and touches that scream with heat and friction. She can hear the hitch of Balthier's breath, the scrape of Vaan's teeth against the older male's collarbone. A pleased hiss.

"Again," Vaan pants. His hands are making a clumsy purchase for Balthier, everywhere; she can hear the stumble of his touch, the eager gasp of breath. Balthier's chuckle meshes through the wall; and Fran feels that she is imposing now. That laugh is meant only for Vaan's ears, but she can't find the strength of will to move.

Viera are not lazy creatures, but Balthier's voice always anchors her somewhat. Balthier's voice is a journey, with all of its pompous lines and accent, and discovering something new with it is just as satisfying as plundering a treasure. There is something foreign and slightly strange in the harmony Vaan's voice has with Balthier's, when they lie together like this in blissful ignorance, speaking and saying things in ways that are meant only for each other. The pirate and the thief orchestrate quite the forbidden song to her ears. "Please, Balthier, again," Vaan continues to whisper, husky, desperate, but she can still hear Balthier's lips kissing the expanse of Vaan's body. Balthier pauses.

"This would be the fourth time, Vaan. I had trusted you wanted to walk tomorrow," Balthier replies, and Fran's lips twitch at the sides to hide a grin.

"Where would I go? I don't wanna go anywhere." What a stubborn harmony Vaan possesses; is it his strength that is so elegant with Balthier's graceful art of language, she wonders. There's a pause, where no sound is nearly deafening, and then the softest brush of nose against nose, mingled breath…

They kiss again, moan lightly in unison. Fran is past the point of longing or envy. Rather than yearn for what the pirate and thief have in the next room, she feels a strange sort of satisfaction knowing her northern child has found peace, at least tonight.

Fran has lived longer than both Vaan and Balthier put together. Years of experience have taught her that living in the moment is the fullest way to go through life. So she doesn't think about Vaan's last choice of words, doesn't think that too soon his young and wayward heart will beckon him back to the sky, doesn't think that Balthier's will likely do the same. She knows they aren't thinking of that either, because they are young and foolish. Fran lets their harmony lull her to sleep. It is the purest one she has heard in decades.


End file.
